The Beckett, the Viper and the Wolf
by Gecco
Summary: A quiet moment in Beckett’s bedroom leads to a memory of just why said Lord doesn’t like to share…


Title: The Beckett, the Viper and the Wolf

Rating: R  
Pairing: Meckett. And some Mercer/OFC (guarantied Mary Sue free!)  
Disclaimer: Beckett and all (and who) he owns belong to Disney…  
Notes:_ Beta-ed by the lovely Tosheii, any mistakes are my fault alone. This is my first time writing these two particular characters, I usually swim in the 'Sparrington' pool, but am a fan of both Mercer and Beckett (their so bad, you just gatta lov'em)._

Summary: _A quiet moment in Beckett's room leads to a memory of just why said Lord doesn't like to share…_

To watch Lord Cutler Beckett get dressed, was to watch one put on armor. Preparing for a day of waging pitched wars of wit and skirmishes of wills with swords of ink and quill, and even sometimes steel over ever changing battlefields of desks, board meetings and various balls and dinners. Always sure to wear shoes and boots with subtle higher heels to make him look taller, carefully wrapped in several tailored layers of clothes so his frame didn't look quite so petite. Wearing rich dark fabrics to show his wealth and standing. He topped it off with carefully quaffed white wigs to hide his curly auburn hair so he looked older and more distinguished, carrying a silver inlayed cane imperiously in hand as another sign of his high status as well as subtle protection. A deadly blade cleverly hidden within.

A beautiful child he had never seemed to quite grow out of the boy-like looks of his youth, on many occasion his features where compared to that of a Botticelli angel or calculating Cupid. And Beckett was all to aware of his own charms and was a seducer of the highest order when he wished, men and women alike were pulled like moths to a dangerous flame. His small stature and misleading looks a blessing and a curse all at once. Forever trapped in the embodiment of spring, but with the soul of the coldest winter and the mind of a razor-sharp steel trap. His appetites great and varied, they also tended to be rather expensive; only the best would do, especially Beckett's sexual ones. He liked sex and he enjoyed being in complete control. The taller, the stronger, the more dangerous, all the better. He also liked pretty things, insisting on finest quality be it from clothes, furniture, servants, meals or bed partners of both genders.

On more then one occasion his servant and clerk would return from some job or errand to find Beckett imperiously waiting, riding crop in hand as some new pet serviced him. Many a time Beckett would purposefully make Mercer stand there and simply wait and watch until he was done, no doubt exercising his domination over the assassin only adding to his pleasure, as well as the added fear and humiliation of his pretty new pet. Beckett seeming to revel in Mercer's quiet jealousy, coming up with new ways to taunt and seemingly dare him to say something or disobey him.

Other times Beckett's tastes ran to something far darker, on more then once occasion a bloody body had to be disposed of and an expensive rug replaced. Those few unfortunate persons were usually those that had somehow betrayed him; for though Beckett liked to dominate and could be terrible cruel, he was not a sadist or rapist. Contrary to what many might think. He may trick, seduce, brake or demand, but all his pets came of their own (and sometimes denied) will to his bed, giving themselves over to his domination and the sting of his riding crop, no matter how they might deny it to themselves. Yet no matter who Beckett seduced, used, played or tortured, his pets they never stayed after the small Lord had sated his wants. They never stayed the night and they never slept in Beckett's bed. They where never privileged to lie next to and guard the deceptively angle-faced Lord of the East India Trading Company as he slept. So Mercer never begrudged his lordship of his fancies and pursuits, as well as his flirting and wanton ways; for only Mercer was privileged to this and while the world knew the cool calculating business man or the soft spoken but razor-tongued Lord Cutler Beckett. The assassin knew "Cutler", the no less dangerous and calculating man under the quaffed white wig and opulent clothing.

Now here, in his inner sanctum, one could almost forget the cold calculating predator that lay under that pale and deceptively delicate exterior while watching Beckett go up on tip-toes whilst trying to reach for a particular book on a high self. Only here at night and in the privacy of his opulent rooms, alone save for the dark eyed assassin watching from the bed, clad only in dark britches, did Beckett allow himself to be so vulnerable.

Anywhere else Beckett would have had Mercer get it or imperiously call for someone else to fetch something that would require him to stretch so, never one to emphasis his already short stature. But here, safe from all watching and critical eyes, he even hopped a few times, fingers plucking determinedly at the leather bound spine before the book was finally in his grasp. To see his small nude form from the back, to watch the thick auburn curls bounce about his shoulders, the smooth and flawless milk-white flesh, one could be forgiven to think him but a youth.

Lord Beckett was a very pretty and neatly wrapped box of contradictions that few would dare open however. And from where he sat, cross legged on the crisp Egyptian linen, quietly watching his master move about the room, Mercer was reminded of an old job he had done many years before…

* * *

It had been a cold spring night in London, while in the large home of a wealthy head of a rival trading company, that Mercer had overheard a conversation between two of his targets. As they stood before a massive overly expensive portrait of Lady Catalina, the wife of one of his intended victims, they grumbled to one another while sipping expensive scotch. Nether being aware that the very man they gossiped about had sent his assassin to slit their throats and that they had but a few moments left to live. For that very same assassin was but a few feet away, hidden in a shadowed doorway. In the painting before them the Lady Catalina was seated primly in a chair in a well lit and opulent room, smiling vacuously, a small white an pink beribboned dog upon her lap.

As he stood in the shadows, listening to them talk about his, then new, Master, comparing the up and coming Company man to that of the small dog in the painting. Pampered and small, carried about by others, useless save for being underfoot and yapping annoyingly. But even then, not knowing Beckett anywhere near as he did now, Mercer had known those two men were very wrong.

For if there was anything in that massive painting that could be compared to Beckett, it was the small fluffy white cat with a delicate powder blue ribbon about it's neck sitting daintily by a settee in the background. At it's feet a dead and ravaged mouse, a few drops of blood staining the floor as the elegant predator peered smugly out from the canvas with watching blue eyes. An while the cat might have been just as spoiled and pampered as the overly self important woman in her volumous silk skirts and the useless little dog on her lap, unlike they the cat was far more then what it's opulent surroundings and good fortune had made it. A clever little killer hidden in plain sight…as content to lounge on silken pillows and sip fresh cream served on fine china as it was to hunt down and rip the throats out of any unfortunate bird or rodent to cross it's path.

As for the two self important men…Their gossiping came to a sudden and unexpected end, both of them laying dead on the floor, spilled scotch mixing with their own pooling blood as he slipped quietly back into the shadows within the space of a heartbeat.

* * *

Back in the present, a small smile came to Mercer's lips at his thoughts, leaning back against the large intricate wooden headboard of the massive bed. Watching the petite man turn his way and toss the book he had been reaching for earlier onto a nearby table, having found it not to his liking after all. Dark eyes silently watched Cutler give an annoyed sigh as he stood there, leaning back against the table in the soft candlelight, looking like a teasing Greek muse from some romantic painter's fantasy. Stripped of all his finery and usual wig, save for his snowy hose clad legs which only seemed to emphasize his unabashed nudity. Thick tousled curls framing his cherubic face, hardly the image most people would think of when they thought of the ruthless Chairmen of the E.I.T.C.

"Tell me of India," Cutler commanded then, looking bordly about the room, his coral lips threatening to turn into a full pout.

"Did you not receive those books I sent you, Sir?"

"Books?" he sniffed tartly. "Like that dreadful un Christian book you sent. The one with all the heathenistic pictures of people copulating in all manner of ghastly positions you mean?" he asked, an eyebrow cocked as he glanced over a smooth shoulder at the man on the bed behind him.

"The KamaSutra. Yes, that was one of them, Sir." Assassin inclined his head. "It's quite popular."

The other let out another haughty sniff, turning away, looking perfectly the image of spoiled snobbishness. "I should be quite insulted that you would dare send me such crass things."

"You told me to send you something uniquely Indian…Sir." Mercer played along as he admired the unobstructed view of his Lord's pert pale ass.

"Perhaps you are too bold Mister Mercer. I would be quite within my right to be cross." Cutler made a point of studying his perfectly manicured nails.

A knowing smirk pulled at the assassin's lips then, "You've already read through the entire book, haven't you…Sir?"

"Twice actually," Beckett smirked back. Leaning over and lifting a large and rather thick book from its prominent place on the massive table. Making a point of running a pale finger over the many fabric bookmarks now lodged between various pages before putting it back down and turning around to face the bed. His palms on the table behind him, the quiet stretching as his eyes once again wandered over the large room and all the expensive things in it before resting on the man patently sitting on the bed, as much his property as everything else in the room.

"Tell me a poem" he demanded then, blue eyes glittering in the fluttering candlelight.

"_And so do I walk through the valley of death_," Mercer quoted after a moment.

"That's not a very happy poem," Cutler lightly tisked with a cat-like smile. Pushing off the table and strolling over to the massive bed on narrow feet, his toes sinking into the plush oriental carpet before climbing up onto the bed, the thick mattress dipping as he came to straddle Mercer's lap. The assassin sitting up fully as Cutler wrapped his arms around his neck, their noses almost touching as he in turn wrapped one strong arm around the smaller body. Enjoying the feeling of Beckett's warm fingers running through his long unbound hair and over his scalp, those same small digits eventually moving to trace the features of his scarred and hawkish face. Mercer's dark eyes never leaving Cutler's half-lidded ones.

"I missed you while you where gone," the younger man admitted before brushing his lips against the other's. As with most things in their odd relationship, Beckett was always the one to initiate contact and signs of affection, never fully giving up the reigns of control. With a rustle of the bed linen he pushed the larger man back down onto the bed, draping himself over him, their warm breath mingling as the shadows danced around the room as they explored one another's mouths in a slow languid kiss.

"It seems as if the winds of ill luck hound my steps if you are not at my side," Cutler breathed after they had finally pulled apart, his full lips now wet and swollen.

"Lord Erickson has been a thorn in my side these last weeks. He's been rather uppity since the news of your previous departure," he sighed, laying his head on Mercer's chest and listening to the steady beat within.

"Perhaps it is time to add a new ingredient to his morning tea."

Cutler let out a low chuckle, his eyes flashing with dark amusement, "Perhaps." Before shifting to a more comfortable position on his living cushion, feeling the rough pads of Mercer's calloused fingers glide up his spine as the fire in the hearth hissed and popped.

"You were three days overdue," he said after a long lull of silence. His voice low and partly muffled, but the note of accusation was clear as he traced one of the many long raised scars that ran across the assassin's muscular chest.

"Perhaps you have a lover in Calcutta you have not told me of…," he continued. "No doubt some brown-skinned gutter flower or some painted heathen beauty, whapped in all manner of colorful silks and bangles?

"Or perhaps anther assassin or some other creature of the night? Seeing each other between jobs… Meeting in the dark of night… in all manner of dangerous places. Tearing at one another and rutting like crazed beasts in the shadows," he sneered, even as he nuzzled under the assassin's chin, raking his fingernails across the Mercer's marred flesh.

"Of course... When we are not swinging naked through the jungle and howling at the moon, sir." Mercer deadpanned. His dark eyes watching the flickering shadows creep across the ceiling as he ran a soothing hand up and down Cutler's smooth back, used to his master's shifting moods.

Causing the other man to stop and all but giggle in amusement. "Oh dear, being with me must be quite the bore," he snickered, unable to stop the smile that pulled at his cupid's bow lips as the tension went out of his small frame.

"True… but I have decided to make the best of my situation, Sir." Mercer drawled, giving a theatrical sigh. "Though I'm sure with a little practice you could be swinging from a vine in no time… Though since there is no such foliage about… I'm sure the chandelier will do." He mused aloud, while feeling the warm body in his arms tremble in quiet laughter.

"I shall be a trend setter, no doubt. I'm sure it will be all the rage of London society within the week!" Cutler declared, propping himself up on an elbow to look down on his servant and lover. His head resting against a hand as he ran his other along Mercer's hard torso, always fascinated by the patchwork and crisscross of scar tissue down an otherwise beautifully muscled and toned body. Drawn to the many contradictions that made up his servant… His wolf… His Mercer.

"I'm rather greedy," he admitted suddenly, catching the assassin piercing dark brown eyes with his own blue green ones, his rebellious curls framing his heart shaped face. "I want much… but there are some things I simply can't stand the thought of sharing…" he said in all seriousness.

"Few would think one such a me worth hording, milord." Never one to fish for complements, he simply stated a fact. Mercer knew that most of Beckett's business partners and fellows in the upper reaches of society would give up their right eye to have him at their beck and call. But when it came to looks he knew he was no beauty, his face and skin having weathered the worse of what life and his profession could dish out.

"True… Yet they do not see what I see… what I know…"Beckett smiled before leaning down for another kiss, which soon grew into something more as the assassin rolled them over. The younger man giving a pleasurable and muffled groan as their positions were reversed and the assassin used his talented hands in a far less deadly, but no less skilled art.

Most who knew and had dealings with Lord Cutler Beckett thought his menacing clerk simply a loyal servant and faithful dog, ever at Beckett's heel. But Mercer was a wolf amongst mongrels. At Beckett's beck and call, standing by his side out of something far more then simple loyalty or money, for the petite Lord held him on no visible leash nor bound him with chains. Master and slave, love and hate, light and darkness, the assassin stayed out of something far deeper...

Mercer would never have been called fair or handsome even when he was still but a youth, already having managed to survive the mean streets of London. A stint in the British Army, several near death scrapes, chaotic battles, being beaten and tortured, general hard living and the harsh sun of India and several other exotic locals had taken it's toll on Mercer's sharp hawkish features, making him look far older then his actual years.

Oddly enough this worked to his advantage, due to the fact many looked upon Cutler's quiet clerk as simply ugly and unsettling, dismissing his dark presence. They in turn overlooked the graceful ease of his movements and the tightly toned body hidden by the dark clothes, the lean limbs belaying the deadly strength coiled there. The dark gloves worn even in the heat of the hottest of days, the way those dark eyes constantly scanned and assessing everything. The way Beckett kept him near…even when there was no need for a simple clerk to be present. And while Mercer much preferred to simply get straight to the heart of the matter when on the 'job' rather then fancy foot work or flashy moves, he was quite capable of stunning feats of speed and agility that would shame most acrobats half his age (the exact date of which was still a mystery since apparently the assassin didn't even know his true age). The fact was that Mercer was no ordinary man… Far from it…

And while Beckett's many appetites were ravenous and was know to loan out his various pets and servants at a whim, this was one he refused to share. One that he would not be parted with for any amount of currency or flattery by his fellows or business partners. He did not share the scarred assassin with anyone… His Mercer was his, and his alone. Only once had he ever done so and it had not ended well.

* * *

It had been an unusually balmy summer's eve in England. Beckett having spent a rousing evening with one of his closest friends and some times lover, Lord Warren Kent at his opulent home by the Thames in London. Lord Kent was a tall handsome man with blond hair and a long face. Both he and Beckett having grown up together since their fathers had been close associates. Now as adults they both worked for the EITC, though Kent dealt mostly with the Company's monopoly of the Opium trade in Bengal and Canton. Both being of similar ages, with sharp wit and sharing similar tastes when it came to their pursuits and ideas of entertainment, they had stayed friends and made a point of keeping in touch, being sure to visit one another when their busy schedules allowed it.

After enjoying a sumptuous dinner and catching up on all the latest gossip of the Court, while subtly trying to pump one another for information and their respective business ventures. They moved to a large study, both having taken off their wigs earlier as they now lounged about and idly talked while enjoying some of Kent's more expensive wine. Both men alone in the room after the butler had been dismissed save for two ever watching pairs of eyes.

"That reminds me." The taller man suddenly remembered, after they had been chuckling about something Beckett had been telling him. The tall blond sitting up in his chair where they both now sat before the massive marble mantel, Beckett cocking a curious eyebrow as he also sat up in his chair, some rebellious curls having escaped the black ribbon at his nape. "I must show you what I picked up on my last trip!" Lord Kent began.

"She's right over… Over… I know she's here…" He muttered with a frown as he looked around the seeming empty room, the soupy darkness of London at night to be seen through the massive windows outside. The cheerful fire in the hearth gave a few pops before Kent rolled eyes in annoyance. Beckett's other eyebrow raised in amusement when his friend still apparently couldn't find what he wanted to show him. Kent finally lifted a long fingered hand and imperiously snapped his fingers. Both nobles then watched as a woman materialize out of one of the shadows by one of the towering windows in the room. Lord Kent having apparently hired a golden skinned woman from China on his last trip overseas to inspect the Company's various holdings there. "Ah! There she is. Tricky little thing." he chuckled, motioning to her with his glass.

Wearing simple and flowing clothes of dark blue and black of eastern design, Beckett could see that this was no delicate flower, nor was she the pretty porcelain doll that many found so desirable in her race. It was with a small flash of annoyance that he soon realized that she stood a foot taller the he did, once again reminded of his rather small stature as he watched her glide over on slippered feet. Her true age was hard to judge, but by the small lines etched around her eyes and budlike mouth she was most assuredly in her late thirties at the very least, her dark almond eyes holding far to much weariness to be younger. She still would have been rather attractive, had not the whole left side of her oval face being horrible marred where someone had burned strange figures into her face, her right ear partly gone as if mauled by something long ago. She gave them a deep bow as she came to stand before them, then silently waited, her long dark hair trailing down her back in a thick braid.

"I picked her up on my last trip to Singapore- cost me a small fortune," Kent snorted to himself, a big smile on his long face as he got up and stood next to her, glass in hand. "In fact she still is!"

"Oh dear, Warren," Beckett sniffed, seeming under whelmed. "I certainly hope you didn't spend so much for her looks and charm?"

Kent laughed, "Hardly! Though don't let her fool you. My tattered yellow orchid here is quite the deadly little viper," he chuckled darkly. Boldly reaching out and catching hold of her chin, he tilted her face so she had to look at him before letting her go and walking back over to a small table nearby, refilling his glass from the bottle resting there.

Never one to be outdone Beckett beckoned his own deadly pet forward, Mercer stepping out a shadow near the door on the other side of the opulent room. Silently coming to stand near Kent's pet, though unlike the other, he did not bow, both assassins seeming to ignore the other's presence.

"Gads! Not much to look at face wise, is he?" Kent sneered, lip curled in gross fascination as he came over and did a slow circle around the male assassin, critically studying him. He stopped and was leaning in uncomfortably close to get a better look at the side of Mercer's scared face when, without turning his head, the assassin's piercing eyes snapped his way in silent warning. Making the Lord unconsciously jerk back before those eyes turned back to look at his still seated master.

"Where ever did you find him?" Kent laughed, covering up his unease while strolling back over to friend.

"Calcutta of all places. Though he's originally from right here in England. Born and bred." Beckett answered, always one to enjoy showing off as he swirled the wine in his goblet, admiring the color.

"Calcutta…Interesting… I wonder if these two know each other then?" The taller noble asked, taking a sip from his own goblet. Both his and Beckett's eyebrows went up in mild surprise when both assassins inclined their heads in the affirmative before cutting their eyes at one another.

"Xui Ye." Mercer greeted after a moment.

"Mercer." She greeted back.

"It's a rather small world after all it appears," Beckett said in mild amusement before getting up and walking over and helping himself to more of Kent's expensive wine.

"Now I'm left wondering just how well these two know one another…" Kent pondered aloud, crossing his arms while looking between the two. Nether assassin answering since they had not been addressed as they patiently stood there, the firelight from the roaring hearth and a few candelabras around the room making their features look almost like they had been harshly carved from stone. Their dark eyes glittering eerily; docile and well trained predators obediently waited for whatever their respective masters had planned.

Curious as well, Beckett set the bottle down again and came back over to stand next to his taller friend, "Have you ever faced one another on a particular… job?" he asked the two.

"Yes, sir," Mercer answered, while Ye inclined her head again.

"Oh! How about a little fight then? An exhibition of skill, perhaps," Kent notably cheered. "Care to place a wager on how good your man is?" He dared, looking down at Beckett out of the corner of his eye.

"No, actually," Beckett replied tartly, looking way. "The last time I was foolish enough to let that bloated fool Rodger goad me into a little…exhibition with my Mercer, it was quite the mess. Even standing across the room one of my favorite waist coats was utterly ruined." He remembered in irritation, turning to glare pointedly at the silent assassin before looking up at the blond again. "Apparently that windbag is still under the impression that I owe him a Persian rug and a rather over priced bodyguard."

"That certainly explains his ill temper and those glares he was throwing your way at Duke Winzer's ball," Kent frown in remembrance before giving a sigh.

"Still… Now I fear I'm even more intrigued to see your man in action. As for my little orchid here… I admit I just love watching her 'work'." he said, a malevolent smile coming to his face. "I've even hired a few disreputable people to find and bring me some rather nasty characters just so I can watch her take them apart when the mood strikes me."

"Your tastes always were a bit crass, Warren. Not to mention wasteful," Beckett scolded. Strolling over to give the silent female another critical once over, still finding her a bit repulsive, silver and ebony cane in hand, using it to lightly tap her shoulder and haunch like some prize filly. He then turned and made a point of seeming to study his own pet, reaching out to brush away some imaginary dust on Mercer's black coat just to watch those dark eyes cut his way before strolling back over to where Kent was standing.

"How about some other form of exhibition?" He offered then, watching his friend perk before turning to watch the two still silently standing there, deciding he felt a bit spiteful that evening. "How do assassin's _fuck_ one another I wonder," he wondered aloud, tossing his auburn curls back.

"Splendid idea, Beckett! You are feeling rather evil tonight aren't you?" Kent laughed, watching the answering smirk on Beckett's lips.

"Strip," Kent then ordered, not even looking as he imperiously snapped his fingers at Xui Ye. Without a word she immediately did as ordered, stepping out of her slippers as she began untying her flowing outfit and within a few moments all her clothes lay on the floor around her small feet.

"You too Mercer," Beckett ordered, raising his glass for a dainty sip.

The assassin didn't move however, giving him a hard look instead, his feelings quite clear as a tense silence suddenly filled the air. It was one thing to have to stand around and watch Beckett have his cruel fun with whatever poor pet he was playing with- it was another thing to actually be that pet and have someone else watching. The tense silence continued as Ye stood there nude while one of Kent's light eyebrows went up as Beckett's eyes narrowed at the sudden show of disobedience.

"Strip." he repeated, an undercurrent of something very dark in his calm tone. The look in his icy blue eyes as he turned a pointed glare at the clerk left no room for argument. After another long pause and the assassin did as told, pulling off his tall boots and quickly shedding his dark clothing, layer by layer, until they were in a messy heap around his feet. Beckett meanwhile made sure to come up with a suitable punishment for Mercer's misbehavior when they returned home later that evening, as both nobles now studied the two beings laid bare before them.

Neither was exceptionally tall, both of standard height, though Xui Ye was a little taller then the average woman of her race. Neither would be called beautiful or even pretty, their skin far from the desirable unblemished and smooth milky white complexion so favored by English ideals. But the beauty of their form could not be denied, coiled musculatures like that of acrobats or dancers, not an ounce of fat to be seen, their hard lean bodies made for speed and agility, each far stronger then they appeared. Both with a palatable aura of menace and untouchability about them even without their clothes and weapons, their bare hands just as lethal as the sharpened steel each preferred.

Each one's body was a detailed ledger book of their hard lives, each scar having a tale to tell, mistakes, close calls and barely survived tortures. The female's body was rather interesting looking to say the least, Beckett studying her like one would look at some oddity one would find in some carnival attraction. He much preferred his women far more soft and delicate, with smooth pale skin and ample curves then she. Her breasts far to small for his tastes, but appeared firm, though one of her dusky pink nipples looked as if it had been cut off. And like her face, there where more ugly brands to be found, exotic characters burned into the flesh of her chest, belly, hip and even down one thigh. Beckett could not read or make out all of them, but he did recognize a few characters like the symbol for 'murder' on her chest and someone's personal hawn (1.) on her hip. Someone by the name of Qiun Fei having branded their ownership of this woman some time in the past. It was with a cocked eyebrow that he saw that she was utterly hairless between her legs, a small coiled snake tattoo just above her pubic mound. Down her muscled back an intricate and coiled serpent had been inked into her skin, its jaws agape preparing to strike. And while her body was badly scarred it was nothing to the veritable road map of scar tissue that made up Mercer's skin. Beckett had once noted that Mercer's body almost looked as if some one had ripped it into many pieces and then had somehow managed to stitch them all together again. Yet for all it's obvious flaws there was an elegance to the assassins form, a knife sharp grace to his movements, whipcord muscles moving just under that scarred flesh. A few odd pagan symbols etched along both tightly muscled arms and down his back as well as a strange jagged symbol on the back of one shoulder. The assassin once told him (after much prodding and pouting on Beckett's part) that it was a spell a holy Man had placed on him during one of his trips to India.

"Such gorgeous bodies- ruined!" Lord Kent cried, nose wrinkling at the collection of burns, scars and abhorrent imperfections. He let out a long disappointed sigh as both he and Beckett continued to haughtily study the two, nether assassin seeming to care about standing there undressed as they were critically inspected like prized horses at auction.

"You just can't get bodies in that condition- save the occasional gypsy or acrobat. And still not worth it! Steal you blind and put a knife in your back before you've even got your breeches un done," he grumbled into his glass, a sour look on his face.

"You didn't…" Beckett looked askance.

'Unfortunately… yes," He admitted with a rueful shake of his head. "Never again, mind you. But you should have seen her, Cutler!" He sighed wistfully, running a hand through his blond locks while closing his eyes at the memory. "A dark beauty with raven hair- and she could twist herself in all manner of bizarre positions. If you had seen her you would understand my friend."

"I'll have to take your word for it," Beckett said acerbically. "I just shudder to even contemplate what diseases she and the rest of her kind must carry," he muttered, his nose wrinkled. "I hope you know that's how old Daniel over in the treasury department got syphilis. Taken a foolish shine to one of those touring tart actors from France three years ago." The taller man just rolled his eyes as he shifted on his feet.

"Enough of that now! I thought we were going to see an exhibition of skill?" he said changing the subject.

"Indeed," Beckett agreed, as they turned expectant gazes back to the two assassins again.

"Enough dawdling… You two, get to it. I want to see- right here on this rug!" the tall blond laughed beside him, gesturing to the thick oriental rug before the two chairs by the large marble hearth. Beckett taking a seat while Kent impatiently stood by his chair motioning for the two to start.

This time neither assassin moved, standing there like statues, looking back at them with dark expressionless gazes.

"Go on! Fuck one another, and do make a good show of it!" Kent urged them insultingly on, even going over and firmly pushing Ye up against Mercer. Both turning to look at one another before turning once again to stare at the impatient blond incredulously.

"Ah! Here I have something to help with the mood," The tall Lord suddenly chirped, coming up with a idea after another long pause. "Something to wet your pallets!" He gave a nasty laugh as he poured his glass of wine over their heads, making Beckett snicker in cruel amusement from his chair.

As for Ye and Mercer, a truly dangerous look flashed over their now stained and dripping faces before they both schooled their features into stone-like masks once again. But still the two continue to simply stand there, pressed up against one another, wine dripping onto the carped, their arms slack at their sides. Beckett was finding his patience quickly wearing thin, while Kent's previous smile was quickly being replaced by a hard look of displeasure that did not bode well for either pet as he sat down heavily in his chair.

"Well… since this seems to be such a difficult task. Perhaps we might amuse ourselves with some other form of entertainment, what say you Warren?" Beckett offered after several long uncomfortable ticks of a nearby clock, even though his cool gaze never left the two still standing there. The tall blond seated next to him having a rather sour look of annoyance on his face, chin now resting upon on his hand, the candle light sparkling off the large diamond a ruby ring on his finger. "There's always a bit of punishment that could be dispensed… something new…something creative?"

"Perhaps you are right, Cutler…" He rumbled speculatively.

Apparently given the choice between punishment or humiliation, the choice was clear as both assassins simultaneously turned and firmly wrapped their arms around one another, both understandably quite leery of their respective master's harsher and more 'creative' punishments as they now stared at one another. Each seeing the same momentary flash of fear behind the other's eyes while their two voyeurs could not help but glance knowingly at one another and chuckle at their pet's sudden eagerness.

"Now that's better!" Kent noticeably cheered, sitting up and smugly getting comfortable in his chair to watch the show.

"All it takes is the proper motivation, I find," Beckett haughtily observed, swirling his wine again whist crossing his legs. "Though after all the delay…It had better be a good performance."

"We are being a bit cruel, aren't we? Let's give them a moment to warm up," snorted the other, loosening his cravat.

Without a further word the two assassins finally pulled together, their dark eyes never closing as their lips met in a simple kiss, a crackle of energy seeming to snap between them. Mercer's hands came up to caress her slender arm and run along her ribs as she leaned into him, holding him about the waist while one of her muscular legs came up and wrapped around him, her small foot rubbing up and down the back of his leg. It was not long before their breathing began to pick up as they each seem to relax and allow themselves to be carried along by their growing lust as their respective masters made the occasional comment and insulting observation to one another before quieting down.

All was going well, when something internally and unexpectedly shifted as Beckett watched those small calloused hands come up to caress Mercer's muscular back with a familiarity that, suddenly and oddly set Beckett's teeth rather on edge. Watching the clerk bent forward and put his lips to the shell of her ripped ear, whispering something to her that made a smile flicker over her painted bud-like mouth while his fingers danced over the colorful viper inked into the warm skin of her back. Watching Mercer then open his mouth an run his tongue up the left side of her face, over the pink and puckered brands, licking off the wine as Ye's dark eyes fluttered close in pleasure. A moment later she wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her own lips to his ear, breathing something back to him that made a small, but real smile flash across his face at whatever she said.

Where there had been cold aloofness now there was a smoldering heat, their breathing getting deeper as their growing arousal becoming quite clear as she boldly pulled the ribbon out of Mercer's long wine soaked hair and ran her harsh fingers through it, pulling on it as he tightened his grip around her slender waist, crushing her against him. There was a feral glow in their dark eyes now, a challenging look on their features as if daring one another to do more. Moving and twining against one another, their muscular forms painted in the low light of the flickering candles as they swayed in the steps of a primal dance.

She hummed while nipping and running her pearly white teeth along Mercer's jaw as her hands roamed his strong back, tracing idol patterns as his own hands roamed over her muscular form, drawing purrs from her. A brief glance to his left, Beckett saw that Lord Kent was most definitely enjoying the show. Leaning further back against the plush cushioning of his chair, his empty wine glass was still in hand forgotten while his other unconsciously rubbed against the deep blue material of his britches. His light blue eyes glued to the two intertwined and swaying figures, a few beads of sweat now glistening at his temple, his own arousal seeming to grow with every hiss and groan. Yet oddly, Beckett found himself feeling the exact opposite, every hiss of pleasure and muted rubbing of flesh seemingly leaving him colder and less pleased than the last. He turned his attention back to the show, a frown threatening to break over his smooth features as he frostily crossed his legs once more, the silver handle of his cane seeming like ice in his subtly tightening grip.

No doubt the two would fall rutting and tearing at each other like disgusting crazed beasts at any moment on the carpet, screaming and yowling their unabashed pleasure he though. Needless to say, Beckett was beginning to greatly regret his idea for this particular exhibition, his own arrogant spitefulness having backfired on him somehow. True he had wanted a good show, but not this good of a show. Having simply wanted to enjoy Mercer's humiliation and revel in his complete domination over him… Not watch _his_ Mercer fuck that vicious little trollop and actually enjoy it!

What little gentleness there had been was completely gone, both seeming to have forgotten their audience completely, their lips now meeting in a hungry bruising open-mouthed kisses, clearly enjoying themselves. Their dilated and smoldering eyes locked on one another in a battle of dominance, neither giving an inch, both seeming to relish in the knowledge that they didn't have to hold back or be careful for once. It was with a tightening of his gut that Beckett was quickly coming to the realization that the two assassins had clearly known each other intimately at some point in the past as he watched their calloused hands harshly grip and freely grope one another's flesh with an undeniable familiarity. Leaving bruises and claw marks in their wake, their bodies beginning to glisten with sweat, their breath heavy and deep as growls and needy sighs escaped panting mouths, clenched teeth. Watching and seeing a primal side of his pet that he himself had never brought out in him in all the times they had been together, and now seeing it brought out by another left a bitter taste in his mouth. For even Beckett could not deny that they made a surprisingly good match, treacherous viper and vicious wolf. How he hated them then… especially her…

And so it was with narrowed and now ice-cold eyes, his mask of indifference threatening to slip that Beckett watched one of her hands came to rest upon a particular long thick scar that started at Mercer's left shoulder and wound all the way down his back to the top of his right buttock. Watching as she dragged her nails lightly down his back, tracing that scar as if she had done so a thousand times before, watching the muscles flex under that marred flesh as the hand traveled down before coming to rest and grip the firm globe of Mercer's taunt ass, her nails digging in. Growling while viciously sinking her sharp teeth into the flesh of his shoulder like a beast in heat, causing the other assassin to bare his own teeth as he arched his head back at the pain, his dark eyes fluttering shut as a groan of utter pleasure rumbled out of his throat.

"Enough!" Beckett suddenly demanded, shattering the mood while slamming his goblet down on the small side table next to his over stuffed chair, spilling his wine and almost breaking the crystal. The two assassins instantly froze in each others arms, each with a knife suddenly in hand as if by magic, so unexpected had Beckett's outburst been. All eyes in the room then watched in utter confusion as the small Lord shot to his feet, tense as a strung bow.

"Mercer, come away from there immediately and put on your clothes. Now!" He barked, his fingers white knuckled on his cane, Lord Kent still sitting there in open mouthed surprise.

Immediately the two parted, both far to well trained to let any irritation or disappointment show on their features. Only allowing themselves a brief flick of their eyes at one another, while Mercer quickly got dressed as Beckett impatiently paced and called for his coat to be brought. His tall friend, who was clearly disappointed at having the show stopped, tried to argue, but Beckett tartly would have non of it.

Soon after, he stormed out of Lord Kent's mansion in a huff with Mercer silently in tow, hat in hand and still hurriedly shrugging into his coat, leaving behind his long time friend confused and now rather bemused behind. But who soon reconciled himself by beckoning the still nude Ye over with a predatory smile.

Even Beckett had been disturbed and rather confused at the vehemence at his sudden jealousy, refusing to speak or look at the silent assassin for the entire carriage ride back to his estate. As soon as they where through the large doors of his home, he was ordering for a bath to be drawn, then all but stamping his foot while pointing down the hall with an imperious finger as he ordered Mercer to, "Scrub that noxious little viper's stink off, you… you… YOU KNIFE-WEILDING STRUMPET!" Before stomping off leaving Mercer standing there looking utterly confused.

He was in a perfect snit for the rest of the night and the following day. Though that was the night that Beckett demanded that the assassin sleep in his bed (after his bath), laying awake and pouting with an arm wrapped possessively around the older man's narrow waist as he thought about Warren Kent's little viper. And more specifically the hawn she had branded into her flesh as his eyes absently traced a pale jagged scar across Mercer's stomach. That had been the first and consequently last time that Beckett ever shared this particular pet with anyone else.

Three days later Beckett went out an had something specifically made at his favorite jeweler, a week later it arrived in a small velvet bag. The petite Lord then presented the contents to the curious and understandably weary clerk. Ordering him to wear it at all times, the look in his eyes at the time letting Mercer know that there was no choice in the matter.

* * *

Back in the present as they both lay quite and sated on the massive bed, Mercer still wore Beckett's gift around his neck, well hidden from prying eyes. A simple pendent on a short and very strong chain. It was of a running wolf etched in silver, on the back of which was an inscription, "_Property of Lord Cutler Beckett_".

Many a night as they lay intertwined in the dark, simply enjoying the stillness of the late hours, Cutler's head resting upon his shoulder, slowly running his pale fingers across the heavily scarred expanse of Mercer's flat abdomen. Those delicate and carefully manicured fingers would always eventually find their way to the amulet at the assassin's throat, absently tracing the warm silver that represented his affection and ownership with a disappointed sigh. Wishing that it was more and that Mercer could not simply remove it whenever he pleased, even though he would not dare to do so. Cutler's soft lips pursed in thought as the moon outside sailed across the sea of night, still wishing that he could take a knife and carve his initials into Mercer's flesh... To burn his own personal signature somewhere on the assassin as a reminder to any who saw and to Mercer himself, just to whom he ultimately belonged_._

(1.) Hawn:_ the Asian term for someone's person signature or stamp._


End file.
